


with a little help from my friends.

by orphan_account



Series: tumblr requests. [123]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car Accidents, Caretaking, Hospitals, Living Together, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Hi! Do you still take requests? Can I please request a fic where Ringo somehow gets injured and the other Beatles worry about him a try to take care of him? Thank you! 😊 x”
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison & Ringo Starr, John Lennon & Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr
Series: tumblr requests. [123]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1336198
Kudos: 26





	with a little help from my friends.

1964,

A tender hand gently wrapped around his arm, guided him to the front door of a humble house; his home. Well, their home- he shared with his bandmates, his friends. It was the perfect place to be in his hour of need, all caring and attentive to his troubles. Paul guided him carefully over the steps and looked around the house- “where d'you wanna go?”

He smiled at Ringo but looked curiously around, as if looking for something or someone. Except from them- the room was otherwise empty, the only source of light was the sun that shone through large windows. A door leading to the terrasse stood open; letting in a comfortable breeze and the melodic singing of birds- blackbirds, it sounded like to Ringo.

“It’s lovely weather out,” he commented, half answering the question. He had had enough of being indoors after his stay at the hospital- he craved the wind in his hair and the sun in his face. He desperately needed a cup of tea and the smell of freshly mowed grass. “It is,” Paul chuckled and went towards the door, halfheartedly continuing his search around the room. He sighed as he helped Ringo down on a cushioned garden chair.

“Nasty business that- your leg, that is.”

They both shared a glance down at the large, imposing plaster cast around Ringo’s leg. It was not to be missed. And nasty business it had been. They hadn’t seen the car coming- least of all Ringo as he got the blunt of it. John took most of the _emotional_ damage, as demonstrated by himself- either throwing violent fits of rage at the driver or trips of guilt and blame unto himself. He should have been home by now. _Oh_ , Ringo realised, _that’s who Paul is looking for_.

Ringo sighed and shrugged, “ _Yeah_. Not much to do about it now though, other than wait.”

Paul nodded and breathed in heavily the sharp and fresh air; “all right, I’ll go fix us up somethin’ to eat then,” but before he could take any steps towards the door- John finally made his appearance, running from out the bushes at the end of the garden, covered in leaves.

“I’m cookin’!” He yelled as he went past. Paul looked hurriedly to and from Ringo and John before taking off after the singer. “The bloody hell were you doing there- wait! Your cooking is shite!”

Ringo laughed ‘till his chest hurt. Those two always were an easy laugh. It had been a blessing at the hospital- the large cold rooms, all the whiteness and hurt that laid there; it only worked up bad memories, that bleak nothingness. Of missed school days and sleepless nights. But he had his friends now- all three of them to keep his spirits up. But he hadn’t seen George since that early morning and like Paul had wondered about John- so Ringo started to.

But it wasn’t for long, for as if his mind had been read- George appeared at the same spot John had. The guitarist, wide eyes and a large smile, laughed as he neared Ringo. “What’s down there? A secret cave you’ve not told us about?”

George shook his head (his hair was getting longer, too long for Brian’s image of the band) as he continued laughing breathlessly. “Not at all,” George flopped down on the grass in front of Ringo and nudged his good foot with his own. “John was just helpin’ me look for somethin’, that’s all.”

“Y’know… he feels really guilty about what happened to you. Blames himself for it.”

“Oh… how so? I don’t fault him for it.”

“I know, but I doubt he does. And he won’t believe me if I tell him so. Or Paul.”

Ringo looked down, staring at the edges of his shirt- at the seams slowly coming apart at its stitchings. Laughter ruptured from behind them and they spotted the Lennon-McCartney pair playfully push and shove each other as they made their way towards the door.

“I’ll try to say somethin’ to ‘im,” Ringo muttered as they stumbled out the door. George patted his knee and leapt out the way lest he wanted to be trampled down by the pair more resembling hyenas now than the musicians they were.

They commenced in good humour, any ill thoughts soon forgotten as they ate. It had been surprisingly good, (none in the band anywhere near being chefs). John congratulated himself on being a master chef as Paul tried to talk over him with all his might that he was the one to save the dish from John’s ‘fiendish ways’.

And at the end of the day; Ringo came no further to John than he would have been to the Dalai Lama. Either they were never alone or John knew that if Ringo had the chance, that _certain_ thing would be mentioned. But, in the end, Ringo understood. They all care deeply about each other- in each their own little ways. And as Ringo sat, legs resting over Paul and John’s laps, George picking at the grass; he felt extremely lucky for the ones he had.


End file.
